100 Theme Challenge YxB
by LaDyFiCtIoN
Summary: I am partaking in a challenge from livejournal. The goal is to write stories for every theme. Various Plots. [Yuriy x Boris Tala x Bryan]
1. 001

I adjusted this since I was finally accepted.

_Thank you to the reviewers and those to come._

**Challenge:** Livejournal 100 Themes. Go check it out!

**Title:** Savings Box  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #001- Savings Box  
**Rating:** G  
**AN/Warnings:** None

**Disclaimer: **Nothing. 

**-Savings Box-**

How long work had been. He sighed, wiping the sweat away from his brow that threatened to drip past them if not removed. However, outside was always cold and nippy, numbing the flesh from the immaculate flakes in constant falling pace from the sky. Beneath layer upon layer of clothing for warmth, that is when the heat built up and fast.

He did not give it a second thought as soon as the door to his apartment closed and locked behind him. Hence, he proceeded to strip. First came off his toque, holding down his fiery locks, then his scarf, veiling his chapped lips, moistened by his tongue that ran over them whilst he flung each glove aside. Then, the bare fingers tugged on the zipper to his ivory coat. Once it was discarded onto a chair left in the entryway, his shoulders felt much lighter. Lastly, his boots and was he ever content finally to be able to move his toes through his socks as he sat on the sole chair.

''Rough day, love?''

Boris received but a grunt for his sardonic comment as Yuriy stood again, stretching his arms above his head. Marine eyes, fatigued and annoyed still managed a glare as his hips swayed down the hall. There, his love leaned against the frame to their kitchen.

A certain someone was on holidays from his job, for a full two lengthy weeks of sleeping in, staying up late and most enjoyable of all, teasing his working counterpart. It was bliss at its best. Of course, the tables would eventually turn but that while; he was relentless in boasting his vacation.

Nevertheless, he pecked a cheek and rounded the corner, letting his nose follow the fragrance to his meal. Yet, before he remained his sitting position in a softer chair around the table, he dug his hands into his pockets, causing a clinging noise from the gesture.

''What are you saving up for?''

Aqua orbs glanced down, a sly smirk curling in his lips. An idea as devious as his grin had lit up in his head.

''A new boyfriend.'' He replied casually, purposely dropping each coin, one at a time for emphasis.

''You couldn't afford one.''

''I know. That's why I settled for you, love.''

**-EndE-**


	2. 002

**Title:** Lip Cream  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #002 Lip Cream  
**Rating:** G  
**AN/Warnings:** None

**Disclaimer:** Nothing.

Lip Cream-

''Are you almost done in there Yuriy?'' An annoyed voice asked, riddled with impatience and an undertone of anger.

Yuriy did this every time. Each and every night, he offered that they go out on the town, visit a club or two, drink a few beers and shots but he always took forever to prepare. In addition, Boris was not a very patient person and this eternity was a nuisance he repeatedly endured.

''Patience.'' The redhead called back from inside the bathroom, probably standing in front of the mirror doing whatever he did that seemed to last… lengthy hours.

All this simply to get ready!

There was a difference between perfection and overdoing it.

Boris growled. His fist pounded against the door again.

He looked down at himself, dressed and prepared for the outing and yet it only took him a good half hour, including his shower. So what if his darkened gray locks were dampened still. His attire easily worked with the environment they would be attending and the articles upper and lower even matched. That normally did not happen.

None of it added up in his mind.

Yuriy had been over an hour, excluding his shower.

The equation did not work.

He could have sworn he was dating a female rather then a male. His princess Ivanov fussed more over his appearance then a real high stung, high maintenance female. Plus, he didn't even know how they acted, excluding brush encounters or being an attendant to a hissy fit thrown in a mall. Yuriy also enjoyed shopping more then any man should. And this was just a basic assumption. He was not sure which could be worst, his love, or them.

He cringed, pushing aside that mental image and reminiscent moments.

He rather men. Specifically, Ivanov Yuriy, former team captain and effeminate extraordinaire.

''Yuriy, I swear I am dating a woman.'' Boris cursed at him and just then, the brass handle turned and the door opened.

There stood his red head, glaring at the comment through china blue eyes. His ruby locks and finely slicked bangs mostly shaded his narrowed marine orbs. Though, the strands that night were all down, neatly placed, stopping barely an inch above his shoulders.

That probably took him a good half hour to do.

Then his ensemble, composed of snug ivory pants, curved to his hips and firmly hugged his backside as, up his sides, the material of a wife beater clung to them and finished in thinner straps over his collarbone.

That alone most likely took days of planning but putting them on and finding, the right belt had to sum to at least another twenty minutes. All that excluded what shoes he would sport and accessories to adorn and complete his evening look. Next, he would be getting manicures and pedicures at a spa…

…Wait…

Scratch that. He had an appointment for both that Sunday and probably a face peel scheduled after that.

Boris sighed in relief. Now, they could leave.

With a smile, Yuriy grabbed his lovers hand, leaned up to the taller stature, and planted a kiss on the ivory cheek.

''Now we can go.''

He headed down the hall when suddenly he stopped. Something was wrong. Not again…

''Shit- I forgot my…''

The words were drowned out by Boris' groan as his boyfriend scurried back down the hallway and more then obviously into the bathroom again. He reappeared, a few minutes later holding out a small object between his fingers.

''I forgot my lip cream.'' For emphasis of its supposed importance, he smeared it over his lips and rubbed them together, finishing with a small smack sound.

''I really am dating a fem-''

Yuriy cut off his speech and did what no female could ever do to Boris and shut him up with a kiss. That was, probably the only difference between the Russian and their womanly counterparts, despite the fact that Boris actually was enjoying the taste of strawberry flavored lip balm.

**-EndE-**


	3. 003, 030

**Title:** Photographs  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing: **Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #003 Photograph, #030 Blood  
**Rating:** G  
**AN/Warnings:** Semi-AU and 200 word drabble.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing. 

**-Photographs-**

Photographs were normally taken to represent moments of nostalgia for people to conserve. Like the birth of a child, a marriage or even simple smiles. Time could be capsulated into a snapshot and kept to last throughout the ages.

However, Yuriy mused, that was the most natural assumption. That belief was only half-true though. A picture was meant to make an instance last forever. Not necessarily did they have to signify joy.

He knew that a picture spoke an infinite amount of words. It could also manifest sadness and capture the worst times endured. Images of war and destruction were as common as their opposites.

The worst of all, as an investigator for crime scenes, like himself were those that spoke the truth, oblivious to either the bad or the good. A human decided its representation. This one, this snapshot of pooling blood, his fallen lover Boris and the evidence of murder was all three.

The murderer would think it to be a happy moment for him and his work and Yuriy knew that it would destroy him. But in the end, it was the truth. It was life and life is but a photograph of all that it contained.

**-EndE- **


	4. 004

**Title:** Band-aid  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #004 Plaster (Band-aid)  
**Rating:** M  
**AN/Warnings:** Lime-ish

**-Band-aid- **

Yuriy walked in, cheeks rose from the weather and red nosed. That was Moscow for you. His stomach growled as he disrobed of outer layers. Outside all day had been long and worked up his appetite. The aroma coming from the kitchen did not help either. It smelled delectable. He licked his lips and headed for the source.

Boris simply waved over his shoulder at the new presence entering the kitchen. There was no point in turning around; he knew who stood there. Moreover, it was his night to cook amongst the four.

''Where are the brats?'' Of course, he really meant team mates.

''Out to get a flick.'' The chef replied, barely paying any attention to the question.

This job, forcing him to prepare meals did not, in the least please him but at least this time it was quiet in their domain. There were no hungry moans and griping, only the sizzling of the meat beside him on the round turned on medium.

''I'm hungry.'' Well, it was peaceful.

The redhead walked up behind Boris, curious to identify their evening's meal. Currently, the cook was simply slicing vegetables. Yuriy sighed and leaned his head between each strong shoulder blade. His arms encircled the waistline that held up baggy sweatpants and as he let off a last shiver from the lingering cold outside, hands audaciously sought warmth.

All you could hear was the cackling of grease against the frying pan and the knife parting pieces of green pepper. Then, the latter ceased. Silver eyes flickered downward at the hands beneath his shirt, roaming over his chest.

''You're so warm.'' Yuriy muffled the words into the nape of his neck.

''And you're like ice.'' Boris snorted as he shivered.

He resumed cooking; ignoring the wandering fingers that first traveled upward It slowly became harder to dismiss the seductive gestures when a warm pair of lips found the skin of his neck. He could only smirk and more onto the next vegetable on his cutting bored to be diced.

Lukewarm fingertips brushed up against a nipple as teeth sunk into the skin behind his ear. There was definitely going to be a mark left behind. A hot tongue lapped at the mark and his breath tingled the indents. The faint groan amid the chopping sounds made Yuriy smile deviously. His teeth followed the path from neck to ear, softly kissing behind it. Then, they nipped at the tender cartilage, multi pierced and tugged on a metal hoop roughly.

''Yuriy...'' He heard his name breathed out huskily and the dicing noises did not reoccur as often.

Boris was too preoccupied even to care about cooking anymore. The others could starve for all he gave a damn. At least his new hunger would be satisfied, even if it meant they disappear to the bedrooms for a very long while. The smell of burning began to float to his nostrils and he reached out to turn the knob to off. As he did, arousing tips and nails slid down his chest, following each definition chiseled into his stomach then beneath the rim of his pants.

He could try with all his might, but there was nothing in the world he could think of to preoccupy his mind from the wandering palm sliding under his boxers to his thigh. Even lifting the knife to slice the last of the radishes proved futile. The first few cuts went well until he felt a squeeze groping the inner area. His eyes shut and the last sounds of the metal piercing the vegetable were ensued with a deep moan.

Then, the silver depths peered opened and went wide. Something stung. It was not the teeth ravishing his neck. He looked down and swallowed hard. A color similar to the radish skin began to pool on the chopping block. He did not trust his voice, but the baritone accent, laced with ache spoke up.

''Yuriy…I need a band-aid.''

''Why?''

''Your molesting me made me cut my finger and the blood is ruining a part of dinner.''

''Can't it wait? I'm busy…''

**-EndE- **


	5. 005, 019, 033

**Title: **Trust  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress: **Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #005 Oil, Sex/One's Nature Magic,#019 Resting one's head on a person's lap, #033 Punishment  
**Rating:** T  
**AN/Warnings:** None

**-Trust-**

The halls seemed almost eerily quiet as he walked down the darkened paths. The stairs descended lower and underground. The deeper he forcedly traveled, the more somber the surrounds felt.

The Abbey and the last chamber, nothing short of an oppressed dungeon, rested the walls of solitary confinement. He shivered. Even the most fearless of men would feel a twinge of cowardice. He swallowed hard. No matter how many times he ensued the downward passage, things never went easier. Each time proved as challenging. His footsteps, hollow, chilled his skin. They echoed from all sides, pounding in his ears. The keys dangling from the hoop jangled, crashing metal against metal.

Soon, he would arrive. Just around the next corner, the door awaited him. A few more steps and the keyhole did as well, waiting for it's unlocking. As it slowly did, the prisoner stared up at the door intensely, through the obscure darkness.

It opened and a new noise rang through the silent atmosphere. The hinges squeaked, lacking in oil. The rust made him shove harder and a minute later, having bared that pitched resonation, almost hesitantly, he called in.

''Boris.'' It was the first time he had ever had to call out that name unlike his fellow teammates; he was the newbie of the bunch.

A grunt was the reply. At least he was still breathing.

He reached into his pocket and struck a match against the wall. The flames engulfed the tip and lit up his countenance as it followed him towards the captive. Silver eyes could not focus on the brightness and closed them shut. It had been so long since he seen light.

Whoever it was thought, he was ready for it.

His body did not tense when the presence approached him. He was just waiting for that haunting voice to mock and jeer him. His head fell forward as his dirty lavender locks pressed to his sweat skin. All sense of pain had been lost to him now.

''Boris.'' The figure crouched before him...and that voice...it was different. He could trace no malice, or cruelty.

It was not him.

Something warm lifted his chin up and his eyes blinked open, meeting the fiery light. Then, the matching crimson strands, like embers of the flames revealed a young face, like his own, looking at him warmly like the fire. He could not help it and let out a sigh of relief, hoarse from his throat.

It was not him, but his new captain, Yuriy.

''How was your first 24 down here?'' The redhead asked.

''Hell.''

Boris' face was a mess. There was dirt smudged against his cheeks, hair greasy and just as filthy. The room was humid, horribly so and the scent was laced with swat. He was on his knees and shackled, cuffed at his ankles. A few links of chain, thick stainless steal bound him to the wall. His wrists moreover endured the same fate, chaining him to the cement. The minimal freedom meant he could not move. This was cruelty at its best.

Yuriy had himself spent a dozen nights in the same position. If you kept your back straight, the immense pain of your body weight dwelled in the spinal cord, or in the knees, bare and vehemently bruising. To relieve the agony, shifting, meant your shoulder had to slump forward, leaving all the pressure on the wrists, keeping you up.

Balcov called it endurance to increase the body's stamina and resistance. They thought it as but punishment, brutal and merciless, like the creator of it himself.

Boris was the newest Abbey child and shown the ropes fast. He was an acquisition the others new little to nothing about. His caretakers, rumored doctors and scientists left him in the manipulative hands of their master before they...mysteriously disappeared.

Young, powerful and riddled with potential, he lacked in discipline, greatly. Balcov was more then willing to show him the consequences for disobedience. There was a large interest shown in his abilities but his sharp tongue needed reprimanding. Theirs to mold, he would prove to be a formidable opponent when they were complete but his sardonic comments and witty phrases were not welcomed within the abysmal sanctuary.

Yuriy undid the first shackle and the left arm, numb, fell limp, slumping against his body. After the next side, he supported his whole upper chest on his lap, a face resting atop his thigh. That is how it always was. No one faired any better through their times of discipline. They all admitted to their weaknesses and strived to conquer them.

All he had to do was lay there, rest in relief from the stress and let his captain rub his back. He would dismiss the massage in any other circumstance but the fingers, soothing the knots and tension could not be passed up.

''You'll be in pain for at least a week, this helps for the first night.''

The was vulnerability at its purest but Boris, fought it back. No amount of agony coursing through him could cease his arms from pushing upwards and teeth gritting. He sat up and stared evenly into the marine depths, lit from the flaming torch. His breaths were labored and deep, and then exhaled in a pathetic hiss.

The darkness veiled his proud smirk that graced his lips as his hands began to undo the shackles adorning the others ankles.

Now, he just needed to stand.

Yuriy stood bemused before him.

''Need a hand, tough boy?'' He offered his palm and reluctantly, it was clasped with another.

With a pull and a first kneecap snapping, he braced Boris' smaller stature again. Slowly, he pushed him up against the cold wall and awaited the next leg to bend straight. Lilac eyebrows frowned deeply. Yuriy even winced when the popping sound resonated sickeningly throughout the entire room. He pulled back to look at the contorted face, pained but slipping into relief. For a second, he swore the newcomer looked innocent and lost.

Boris sighed. The tension had finally subsided. It was so intense for that longest eternity that crimson essence, tangy, coppery, disgusted his taste buds. A streak of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, the drops rolling down his chin. He had bit his lip, suppressing a yell from daring to escape.

Yuriy dropped the torch and his fingers brushed the mess away. The flames all extinguished. They stood in the dark, pressed together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Boris felt utterly pitiful. This was his absolute low. Never again would he let it happen. His captain was his post for support and he was not sure if dependence in such a place kept you alive. However, through his darkest hours, he would need help, all of their aid.

Would it hurt that much the next time he was forced to accept these offering hands when the ones from the past only inflicted more pain? Something wet ran along the skin of his cheek and suddenly, a warm sensation stopped the trail. Had he really shed a sole tear? Yuriy kissed it away, that first slip. Now, he hit rock bottom.

Not even one doctor or a malice psychologist had ever seen him cry. Not after all those years. He shuddered at the hot breath in his ear.

''You can only cry once here.'' Yuriy whispered slowly. ''Or they win...''

He nodded. Only once could he and now, never again.

Then, he wondered while his thoughts were as low as his spirit, when had his captain cried.

* * *

The hours grew later, one passed and another neared. In the stairs, all sense of time faded. It was simply called eternity. By the top, the last grueling step of assistance, arms around his waist and encouraging words, it ended.

''Curse if it hurts.'' Yuriy told him.

A second later, the worst swears he had ever heard spoken riddled the air.

He snapped. Boris let out every curse he knew.

The walls played tunes of echoing obscenities.

When they came down the last hall before the dorms, each halted on instinct. None of the doors opened as they crept by until the last closed entrance, the team room. They made it. Darkness greeted them until a dim lamp lit, in the corner. Two faces looked at them. Everything suddenly felt better then.

Boris dropped onto the bed and his eyes soon felt heavy. The burden aching his muscles dissipated. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. All he could hear was a voice as his silver orbs shut. It was barely audible. But, it was persistent.

The repeated word became louder. Was that his name?

Eyes blinked open, unwillingly, hazed and blurred. Aqua depths now as cold as ice, laced with an arctic feel only rivaled by the storms themselves, glared down at him.

''Get up.'' He commanded.

That was the real captain Boris knew.

Hands pushed him to sit up.

Yuriy settled down behind him. Fingers still squeezed the tense muscles, making them wince but the bits of pain dispersed as a soothing heat and massaging friction left his eyelids drooping. It started slow but just enough for his muscles to sink deeper into relaxation.

Then, a small click disturbed his reluctant reverie that he indulged in. He blinked as newly dampened hands slid slickly over his collarbone.

''It's nature's magic.'' His voice was quiet in the stillness. ''An oil that will help tomorrow's performance.'' There was a brief silence as the substance was further spread over him.

''I want competition.''

He would have protested against the palms roaming down his bareback but the oil began to heat the bruised ligaments and nothing had even felt better.

''Next time, talk to me and not him. He's not worth your breath.''

When he was done, Boris was lost to the world, smothered in exhaustion and looming fatigue. He passed out within minutes. Yuriy laid him down and sighed. He had to take care of his team, in such a desolate place. They were all individuals meshed together, hand picked for a team like no other. The hardest lesson they would learn was trust.

Too much made you weak. But not enough would kill you.

Willing to admit it or not, they all needed each to the end, until hell froze over.

**-EndE-**


	6. 006, 046, 086

**Title:** Homecoming  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Themes:** #006 Traveling abroad, #046 Homecoming (Visiting one's parents), #086 Holiday.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN/Warning:** None  
**Disclaimer:** Nothing  
**  
-Homecoming-**

The air was fresh and crisp, refreshing to the lungs that inhaled the immaculate breeze, whistling through the sails. Seagulls had once sung a melody in their flock along the shorelines of the Moscow port but this far out, only clouds floated in the clear blue sky, as marine as the waters below.

Tourists had gathered from miles for this wondrous cruise traveling to _Tver_, and then back again. Others planned to exit the boat once it arrived. They were amongst those people, the ones laughing amid themselves, watching the entertainment or leaning over the edge to marvel at the shimmering blue beauty, free of ice and the arctic. Alas, they were doing none of that.

Had they know they would be sea sick, for two long days; maybe they would have reconsidered the idea of a ferry trip. The prospect of venturing a float saved them quite the few rubles in their pockets, but now, as they rocked on the deck's surface, there was no lunch left in their stomachs that they had paid for.

A big wave swept the boat at that moment and as the swaying began, the same process each man felt also debuted. First, they scrambled to stand, pulling on the safety rail and holding on tightly as they lurched their bodies forward and upchucked over the edge. Blue eyes, like the water, opened first as drops from his orbs joined the streams and its infinite depth. Slowly, he sank back down onto his knees.

The retched sounds filled his ears, as minutes later, his partner resumed position beside him, red cheeked and a nauseous countenance. They sighed and once again, laced their hands together. This was going to be a lovely trip. People spared them glances and in return, with their free fingers, they showed the following guests their own, mature opinions.

That is how they liked to call it.

The offended called it being flipped off by seasick homosexuals.

Yuriy wished it would all just end. Wouldn't someone throw him overboard? He felt sick again but there was nothing left in him to vomit. Everything, from the large take off meal they consumed the night before, all the way to lunch's three-course meal was now a part of the sea, added with bile, of course. They felt disgusting and that is exactly how it tasted and so bitter as well.

And this would be the easier part of the long voyage. He swallowed hard. The only event that could possibly by any worse then their sickness was the whole reason behind going. Who would have ever taught that this Russian would have a family, waiting for him when their past ordeals were done? He was no orphan, simply motherless with a father he had only met once prior, when he was young.

His nervosa had long consumed him, a feeling he had forgotten even existed inside of him. It was overwhelming and questions flooded his brain. What kind of man would this father be? For hours, the redhead lost himself in these thoughts. Even on the boat, he still pondered the situation about to unfurl. He was bringing an announcement along with him, the hand that twined with his own, for the first time.

Boris could have cared less what people thought of them and if his father would be the same way. Either acceptance, or disapproval, it would not change a thing. The whole visit though, was a challenge, for them both. They did not have the cleanest of slates from their past and people, everyone, seemed to remember those devastating days that lingered in their memories.

Albeit reminiscing, or dreaming of those memoirs, if they could put their horrendous recollections behind them, why couldn't people do the same? Yuriy prayed his father would, so they could start anew without any secrets hidden in their closets. This was after all, his homecoming, his holiday, and his confession. He wanted things to go _his_ way.

Nevertheless, the seas seemed to disagree as another wave shook the whole boat. He also proved himself wrong. There was still something left inside of him to spew overboard. That was when they decided to head back for their room, their simple haven away from hell on the main floor. They dragged one another down the hallways beneath the higher decks and stumbled within, each yearning for the bed.

''We are never traveling by boat again.'' Boris stated and was quickly agreed with by a silent nod and a kiss to his cheek.

That was the only time they did not want to kiss each other and decided to skip straight to snuggling, with a barf bucket at the bedside. They would think about the meeting later, much later when they were off the boat and on solid ground.

**-EndE-**


	7. 007, 098

**Title:** Stars  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Themes:** #007 Shooting/Falling stars, #098 Cloud  
**Rating:** T  
**AN/Warnings:** 100 word drabble.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing.

**-Stars-**

He looked up at the sky, glowing in its radiant beauty, each tiny, insignificant star twinkling and falling across the navy tapestry. Some were shooting across the vast ocean of darkness and lost themselves in the contrasting grey clouds floating by, slowly, as leisurely as they were, laying there nude in the grass.

His gray eyes were in awe at the breathtaking sight racing by above them. They kissed there, and made love there in the wide-open field under the stars. Though, as each one brightened in such a gorgeous display, he knew it did not surpass his lover.

**-EndE-**


	8. 008, 039

**Title:** Ball game  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing: **Tala x Bryan  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Theme:** #008 Ball game, #039 Playing House  
**Rating: **G  
**AN/Warnings: **This is asnippet from the** AU** _Upside Down_ and _Inside Out._ **MPreg.**  
**Disclaimer:** Nothing.

**-Ball game-**

He was proud to be a father. There was no greater joy than to watch his youngest little man play baseball with all the other kids. He was never one to smile but as his son put on that cap and grabbed his new aluminum bat, the genuine curved appeared in nostalgia and never parted.

His lover, and their daughter, the cheerleading sister sat with him on the bleachers and together, as a family, they cheered. They were normal, in the eyes of their children. They were two men, in love, raising young ones as best they could. The opinions never mattered and each partner knew they never would. Nevertheless, for the innocent orbs, marching their own, oblivious and immaculate, they tried hard for some form of acceptance, socially.

''When they grow up, they'll thank us.''

Bryan nodded and turned his smile over to Tala, who gently kissed his cheek in return.

They were playing house with their twins, in the every day world. They were good parents to their kids and they were proud as Adrick walked up to home plate, with a smile on his face.

**-EndE-**


	9. 009, 091

**Title:** King and His Crown  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Rating:** G  
**Themes:** #009 King, #091 Crown  
**AN/Warnings:** None.  
**Disclaimer:** Nothing. 

-King and his Crown-

He was powerful and by far the greatest of the snowy plains and artic lands. Ivanov, Yuriy was king of his blade and the Emperor of blading. But, he was so young when it all started and it barely took him a year, in that retched place to establish the best position as his own.

He was one of the earliest recruits of the all boys Abbey, in Moscow at the age of thirteen. This was his passion and what he reined supreme. Over the years, that ranking never changed and a threat, or a challenge came rarely even without a bit chip, his prize possession, that cruel, frosty wolf.

At the sight of a first tournament, he was ecstatic, though, only a smirk appeared on his lips. The opposite crumbled and in barely a yawn, he was crowned the country's champion. All kneeled before him and hailed him as King of Russian Beyblading. He loved every minute of it.

Then, as time dwindled, an opponent was found. He barely smirked at the thought. Another few minutes of his life would be wasted. He refused to practice and on the day of the new boy's arrival, he was the last to greet this challenger. With cold eyes, he stared across the way at silver orbs, hollow and pale. They looked empty.

He fought without his chip and loaded his blade on his launcher. The countdown came and went. Both their tops collided and clashed. He watched his offense be defended by the unknown player and, spared a glance upwards. He would have grinned if it had not been for those void eyes watching him. They were translucent and vacant of all but an ebony pupil.

It unnerved him and in that split second, where he finally felt on edge, he lost. The blade spun at his feet, defeated. Gasps and shock buzzed through their audience. Yuriy looked down at the rings of attack slightly chipped and defense cracked down the center. He had really lost, like when lost himself in those pools of nothingness.

''Can I ask your name, stranger?'' The king asked.

''Boris.'' Came the response, with a sly curve in his lip.

Yuriy stared at him and noticed then, that those eyes were now filled with mirth and defiance. He had won and beaten the king. The loser swore it would never happen again, not as long as either of them was still alive. He blew the triumphant a victory kiss and took his first loss like a man.

…Yuriy would always be king, but Boris had just stolen his crown.

**-EndE-**


	10. 010, 083

**Title:** Burnt  
**Fandom:** Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)  
**Pairing:** Yuriy x Boris  
**Authoress:** Ladyfiction  
**Themes:** #010 Burn, #083 Black tea  
**Rating:** T  
**AN/Warning:** None.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing

**-Burnt-**

''Idiot.'' He cursed aloud and quickly dashed over to him.

Yuriy had not been paying attention again and burnt his fingers against the boiling kettle. Boris sighed at the pained face that sniffed at him and grabbed his wrist while his other hand turned on the taps. He put the burnt tips under the water. All this was because he wanted to make black tea for them.

''This is not how you are supposed to take care of me.'' The redhead snorted, and then hissed as it stung his fingers.

Boris always called him an idiot in the kitchen and it was true. Numerous times, Yuriy caused accidents in there. It was not a safe place. In opposite to his lover, he happened to be able to cook food without causing havoc. He was always careful and never made a mess.

Therefore, when he shut off the rounds and went to remove the kettle off the oven's top, for the first time, he made a mistake. His own fingers burned against the handle and he yelped. There was an annoying throb on his skin. He glared at his slip up and went to join the other hand in the sink. That is when Boris stopped him, grabbed his hand and gently kissed the burnt ends.

Yuriy blushed, nevertheless and lost all sense of the pain as he watched Boris brush by him without once letting a tease slip past his lips. He expected a comment, mocking or jesting his mistake, because that was how his lover was, but none came.

Until…

''Idiot.'' Boris finally added…

…and Yuriy laughed.

**-EndE-**


	11. 011

#011

**-Troublemaker- **

''You're such a trouble maker, Boris!'' Yuriy yelled, but the teenager did not hear him.

His deep emerald eyes were focused on Kai, standing before him with his gloves up. They were boxing, with helmets and mouthpieces, intense burning orbs and sweaty bodies. Kai tried for a right jab but Boris dodged it, and landed a left hook to the bare cheek across from him.

Kai shook it off and stepped around the ring. Boris followed him, in a circular fashion and ducked as a first punch swung powerfully at his head. He avoided the right but the left came from the elder's side and connected against his nose. A light trickle of blood fell onto his lips.

''Kai! You bastard! This was only supposed to be a playful match.'' Yuriy, from the sidelines, screamed at the boys but they, again, ignored him.

Boris smirked and brought his arm up in defense. Next time, Kai would not catch him off guard. The Phoenix attacked again, rougher then before but the falcon fought back. He defended the strong punches and swung his arm at the slate head. He hit him just below the jaw and Kai stumbled back against the ropes.

Yuriy had enough. He was tired of watching these friends have it out, after one stupid comment.

Kai smirked.

''_It's a door, genius.'' _

Boris glared.

When they got back to their training room, later that night, Boris laced up his gloves and Kai joined him in a spar.

The redhead slid in along the mat, under the bottom rope and dove in between the adversaries. His blue eyes narrowed towards Kai first then softened as he turned to Boris. He walked up to the offended boxer and pulled out his green mouthpiece. With more strength then Kai could ever muster, he leaned up and kissed Boris forcefully, without any room for objection.

Kai shook his head, tossed his mitts aside, and jumped out of the ring. He slung a white towel over his shoulder and headed for the showers. An unexpected visitor said hello to him in a purr with a curious face at the door and then, Kai was gone.

Yuriy knew where he was off too but now, his only concern was Boris.

''You're such a troublemaker…''

Boris smirked. ''I know.''

**-EndE- **


End file.
